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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084673">rainbows only come after storms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanaogeva/pseuds/sanaogeva'>sanaogeva</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, M/M, Marijuana, Non-Linear Narrative, References to Depression, Underage Drinking, hyuck's rainbow hair is still legendary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanaogeva/pseuds/sanaogeva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning of September doesn’t bring anything new into Mark’s life.</p><p>He’s forced to go back to school, to be yet again confined in the same room with people who are probably less than little fond of his presence there, to thoroughly watch his breathing in the classrooms that are notorious for their lack of space and fresh air, and to compose long-winded rants about the aforementioned failures to provide decent study conditions.</p><p>The school is his personal agonizing hell. Or it used to be, before he spots a mop of rainbow hair and the bright cheeky smile that puts the sun to shame.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. renjun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>sooo this is really mark-centered, so i hope it won't come as a suprise that hyuck's name won't even be mentioned in the first chapter (it is more of an introduction chapter lol but i promise he'll appear in the next chapter &lt;3)<br/>also i want to point it out again that the story has a nonlinear narrative, so it might be slightly confusing, but things will make more sense as the story progresses<br/>last but not least, it's my first work in like 5 years so i'm super anxious to post it, but idk dlkgjldkj<br/>anywaysssss enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know Jaehyun, right?” the words come out slurred together, and Mark winces at the sound.</p><p> </p><p>He’s tipsy and his head is buzzing with annoying thoughts that he just can’t shut down. His voice startles the boy next to him, and when he realizes Mark’s addressing him, he turns his head reluctantly.</p><p> </p><p>It’s Na Jaemin, the guy from Mark’s school. He saw him multiple times in the hallways, and although they were never introduced before, given Mark’s a year older and their schedules are different, he still knows who Jaemin is. Everyone knows who Jaemin is, his pastel pink hair stands out in the hallways and his charming smile has had all girls (and occasionally guys, too) wrapped up around his finger at one point or another.</p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me?” the boy asks confused, and Mark repeats his question.</p><p> </p><p>“Jaehyun. You know him, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaemin motions his head slowly in what looks like a half-nod, and when his gaze travels to the plastic cup in Mark’s hand, his previously slight frown deepens.</p><p> </p><p>They are at Chenle’s party, seated on the soft velvet couch in one of the living rooms, and the only reason Mark came is because he’d hoped the deafening music would be louder than his thoughts for once, and the alcohol would stop his heart from racing. Much to his surprise, the idea backfires, the jumble of his thoughts now utterly unbearable and the heart beating so fast, his chest lacks room to confine it anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, I do.” Jaemin drawls uncertainly. “What is it about him?”</p><p> </p><p>The question makes Mark’s cheeks burn hot. His inquiry doesn’t need <em>elaboration</em>, Jaemin sure knows why Mark, why <em>anyone</em> would ever ask for Jaehyun, but Mark just can’t bring himself to spell the words out. He starts to fidget, the former faint of nervousness is back and full-on blooming now, and when Jaemin notices that, he sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, you’re Mark, right?” he asks, and Mark twitches. He didn’t expect Jaemin to know his name. He just nods <em>yes</em>. “Listen, Mark, why don’t we just put you to sleep, shall we?” he says and Mark feels Jaemin’s fingers curl in a reassuring grip on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he protests firmly, “I really need to talk to him. It’s important.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The beginning of September doesn’t bring anything new into Mark’s life.</p><p> </p><p>He’s forced to go back to school, to be yet again confined in the same room with people who are probably less than little fond of his presence there, to thoroughly watch his breathing in the classrooms that are notorious for their lack of space and fresh air, and to compose long-winded rants about the aforementioned failures to provide decent study conditions.</p><p> </p><p>All of those aren’t new, nor are they any pleasant, and he is left genuinely perplexed when his mom ruffles his hair gently and says she’s happy for his return back there.</p><p> </p><p>It’s early in the morning and they sit in the car at school’s parking lot.</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny will come pick you after classes. He talked to his boss and he’s taking a couple of days off,” she smiles.</p><p> </p><p>Mark winces at that. “That’s alright, I can catch a bus. It’s not a big deal, really,” he reasons and his mom shakes her head.</p><p> </p><p>“He volunteered.” She replies and trails off for a moment. “You know he’s really worried about you. He feels really bad he can’t spend as much time now that he’s got this new job. So let him have this one, he’d be happy to see you today,” she coos with delight, and Mark can feel the uncomfortable feeling bubbling up inside him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so happy for you,” she repeats again, and this time he even catches a faint glisten at the corner of her eye when the sunray touches the side of her face at the right angle just for a split second, and his heart falls into the pit of his stomach immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“Mom, it isn’t even great,” he pleads quietly, but she just shakes her head lightly with a delicate smile tugging at the corners of her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to do so great, baby. You are so strong, I am so proud of you,” she says as her hand raises up to cup his face and <em>those</em> are the moments Mark hates the most.</p><p> </p><p>Because he’s the furthest thing from strong, he’s weak, he’s weak, <em>he’s weak</em>, and the only person he loves and deeply cherishes telling him otherwise only makes him feel more helpless.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I’m ready to go just yet,” he says quietly, the sound foreign to his own ears, and when his mom leans in, her arms reaching out to lock him in a tight embrace, he chokes out a sob that has was sitting down his throat ever since he opened his eyes that morning.    </p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, baby. Take your time.”</p><p> </p><p>He leaves the car ten minutes later after the bell has already rung, his eyes properly wet and the sleeves of his hoodie nearly soaked from all the vain attempts to stop tears streaming down his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t bring himself to step into the classroom that day.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mom, I am so weak, you have no idea.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Johnny texts him that he’ll come to pick him up the next couple of days as well.</p><p> </p><p>It’s been four days since the school had started for him, and it’s been just as many days since he’d ditched this agonizing hell in favor of peaceful sitting cross-legged on a bench in a park, wondering if he could fake his graduation just as successfully, as he’s been faking his studying for the past several days.</p><p> </p><p>Mark wants to protest, but in the end, decides against it.</p><p> </p><p><em>I finish at 3:45</em> he replies instead, and ten minutes later he finds himself on his two feet heading back to his school, his headphones plugged in and his fingers relentlessly skipping every new song that starts playing because it just doesn’t fit the mood.</p><p> </p><p>“So how was it?” Johnny asks with a smile, when Mark flops onto the front seat, his hands immediately reaching for the seatbelt. It is warm in the car, much warmer than outside and chills run down his spine from the sudden change of temperature.</p><p> </p><p>“So far so good,” he shrugs noncommittally, and Johnny narrows his eyes suspiciously as he starts the car. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it, huh?”</p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>, Mark doesn’t say and busies himself with untangling the two knots on the wires of his headphones that were formed long time ago lest he look Johnny dead in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>See, he hates lying, and he’s a terrible liar too, with little to no control over the words that slip off his tongue when someone is looking at him intently as if trying to read his thoughts or see through him. He cannot <em>not</em> share the truth, but he can’t bring himself to share it either. His mother’s face would falter, eyes filled with disappointment, were Johnny to mention Mark had skipped school 4 times already, and that he’s planning to do it ten times more until his principle finally calls him in and tells him that he’s expelled.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m uh- I’m <em>adjusting</em>,” he finally says, and hopes the topic is closed at that. “You don’t really expect me to tell you I’m doing great after just four days, do you?” he asks, voice laced with anxiety to hear the answer, and when Johnny takes his gaze off the road and looks at Mark, like he’s just asked the most ridiculous thing in the world, he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.</p><p> </p><p>“No, of course not,” Johnny shakes his head. “You know there is no pressure, right? Just take one day at a time, okay?” he smiles, and Mark nods again, which satisfies his older brother. There <em>is</em> pressure, though, tons of it, his brain reminds him, but Mark shuts down the thought and just stares out of the window blankly as they are already driving through their neighborhood and the blurred resemblance of familiar houses is flying past them. </p><p> </p><p>When the car pulls up to a stop, Mark hurries on his way out, climbing the stairs in large strands (Johnny calls after him offering to have dinner together, but he dismisses it with a reluctant ‘not hungry’) until he finally reaches his room and swings the door closed behind him.</p><p> </p><p>To: Renjun<br/>Hey, you busy?</p><p> </p><p>His fingers type frantically, and when two minutes later the screen lights up with a new notification, his grip around the phone loosens and he lets out a smile for the first time that day.</p><p> </p><p>From: Renjun<br/>Not too busy to see your stupid face of course. facetime? </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Renjun tells him his mom got a new job in the city and his parents plan to move by the end of the month, Mark finds himself at a loss for words.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a Sunday, the beginning of December, and the first day of the year that it’s snowing.</p><p> </p><p>The view of the roofs covered with snow seeds a hint of childish excitement in Mark when he peeks out of the window that day, but the moment his eyes lay on a message from Renjun that reads <em>hi, I guess we need to talk</em> that was sent at three in the morning, Mark panics.</p><p> </p><p>He throws on the first items he retrieves from his messily stuffed wardrobe, and minutes later his fist is already knocking on his best friend’s door.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s that time of the year again,” Renjun points at Mark’s red pom pom hat dumbly after he opens the door.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been ignoring me,” Mark states instead.</p><p> </p><p>That’s true, Renjun has skipped classes on Friday, which was already a good reason to worry, and Mark’s texts about that went unattended. His mom said he wasn’t feeling well, when Mark came to their place. She also mentioned that Renjun will approach him once he’s in the right place. The wording was the furthest from reassuring to Mark’s ears, but she let out an apologetic smile so he didn’t insist. He hasn’t received anything next day either.</p><p> </p><p>Renjun winces at the accusation.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbles and then his head peeks past Mark’s shoulder into the street. “Should we go to the park?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>The park is just five minutes away from their place.</p><p> </p><p>It’s large and somewhat wild, as no one bothers to trim bushes into shapes or plant any flowers at all. It would look more like a forest, really, if it weren’t for the short fence around its perimeter and the narrow paved paths that are sprayed all over the hills in the intricate tangles. It is Mark’s favorite place in their small town and in winter it looks absolutely breathtaking.</p><p> </p><p>“So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Renjun starts, his gaze carefully watching his feet shuffle though the tiny snowdrifts that were formed on the sidewalk.</p><p> </p><p>Mark hums in agreement.</p><p> </p><p>“So, you know my mom works from home, right?” he says, and then trails off again as if searching for correct words. He doesn’t seem to find any, so he just sighs. “Well, I guess she doesn’t anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Mark is genuinely perplexed by the statement.</p><p> </p><p>“Meaning?”</p><p> </p><p>“Meaning, she’s gotten a new job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay?” he lingers behind Renjun to pick up some snow and make a snowball. It is cold against his skin and he can feel snow instantly melting and leaving wet traces all over his palms. “And that’s why you’ve been ignoring me?” he lets out a small giggle in disbelief, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. His friend was dumb, so so dumb. Mark has spent two days dwelling on what might’ve possibly happened, his heart was thudding against him ribs violently as he was running to Renjun’s place after he saw the text. He already replayed multiple scenarios in his head, all of which had ended in his friend confessing he was terminally ill. Mark can’t help but laugh at Renjun, at himself and at the ridiculous situation he's overthought himself into.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, Renjun! I thought you were going to tell me that someone is sick or something,” he throws the ball at Renjun’s back, and it ricochets back into the pile of snow on the ground. “Shit, you made me so worried! I can’t believe I barely got any sleep only to hear your mom will have a new job.”</p><p> </p><p>“The job is in the city, Mark!” Renjun turns around, and Mark stops in his tracks immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“And that means?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re moving,” he adds quieter.        </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mark takes a couple of days to process the news. Renjun’s announcement felt like a punch to the gut, and at that moment, all out of sudden, his usual whirl of thoughts was gone and his head was empty. The feeling was new, it was uncomfortable and made his hands ball into fists instinctively.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a forty-minute train ride,” Renjun pointed out when Mark didn’t say anything, and the words made him scrunch his nose in distaste.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Mark didn’t press the matter any further, mainly because he didn’t know the right questions to ask, so they spent some more time in the park playing the snowballs until their cheeks were beet red and the ice cold water had pooled in their boots. He waved Renjun goodbye, his face split in a smile, but when he came home, his heart sank immediately and he found himself in his mother’s caring embrace, the nice smell of fried rice she just cooked filling the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>Three days later, Mark still hasn’t come to terms with the sudden shift of evens. They didn’t talk about it anymore, the topics of their conversations limited to the usual day-to-day concerns. It felt as if nothing had even changed at all and Sunday morning was just a figment of his imagination. That is until they’re in Renjun’s room a couple of days later, Mark’s legs propped against the wall, his flamboyant dinosaur socks full on display and hands intertwined in a lock on his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“If that makes you feel any better, I don’t want to move either,” Renjun brings up the subject again, as Mark has come over for another sleepover.</p><p> </p><p>They only live across the street, so such sleepovers are utterly useless, but that is also the reason Mark can say he’s practically grown at two places at once. Renjun’s home is always warm and welcoming, and Mark is in at least four family pictures in the living room. He used to love it there ever since he was a child, and his heart throbbed that day when he saw the moving boxes all over the floor, figured frames with photos no longer placed on the fireplace.  </p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t,” he replies belatedly, and when Renjun shoots him a questioning look from across the room where he’s seated in front of the computer trying to find a movie about alien invasions, Mark clarifies, “Make me feel any better, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>Renjun hums, understanding. “Well, you know how that usually happens. Parents don’t ask their teenage children about stuff like that. They prefer to drop a bomb at a family dinner when your mouth is stuffed with grilled chicken or something, so that you couldn’t say anything, and then they just expect you to accept that. ‘Cause you’re young and shit, you will <em>adapt</em>,” he mocks bitterly, and for a moment, Mark feels sorry for him a bit more than for himself. “I wouldn’t go if I could you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you though?” the older boy asks. He props himself on the elbows to get a better view of the room, and musters puppy eyes, full of hope Renjun will talk his parents out of this ridiculous idea. The voice of reason does tell him he’s being selfish, but the sound echoes deep in the back of his mind, and he successfully ignores it. He can’t risk losing his only friend, after all. “What? I mean your grandparents still live here, and we just have year and a half before graduation. How stupid would that be to transfer you to a different school in the middle of a year?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you! I should get you a megaphone so that you could yell those words into my parents’ ears.” Renjun’s hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance. “They are deaf or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or they just don’t want to listen,” Mark reasons, and Renjun smiles weakly before shifting his attention back to the computer screen.</p><p> </p><p>“Alien or Wars of the Worlds?” he muses, and Mark can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve seen both like at least five- hundred times,” he grins, and Renjun throws a bag of popcorn at him, his brows furrowed from the attempted glare.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, it’s classics,” he rolls his eyes and Mark’s grin grows even wider.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I shouldn’t be worried about you finding new friends in the city. There’s no way someone would ever agree to look at Tom Cruise’s ugly face for like what- two hours?” he squeals dramatically, and Renjun stands up momentarily, menacingly.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’ve been looking at your ugly face for like what-“ he looks at his wrist at an imaginary watch, “ten years already? So looking at Tom Cruise for two hours is the least you can do to pay me back,” he rolls his eyes again and Mark clutches at his heart theatrically, before moving to place the pillows against the wall in what looks like an impromptu sofa, his negative thoughts gone in a second after Renjun flops on the bed, the familiar sense of comfort washing over him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next couple of weeks fly by at breakneck pace. They have their last tests at school, days usually packed with studying and then studying some more, the stack of books on Mark’s desk growing bigger and messier. Much to his delight, Renjun comes over almost every day as he’s reluctant to stay at his place anymore and they generally better work in tandem.  It’s only when they’re done with the literature quiz, which was the last scheduled exam before the winter break, that Mark realizes the moving day is dangerously close, and he sinks.</p><p> </p><p>Renjun’s parents made the decision to move before Christmas, the celebration already planned to take place at their new apartment. Renjun generously showcased some pictures of their new place that he took after they travelled to the city to check it out in person, and Mark couldn’t help but notice it does look nice, albeit not as spacious as their current house.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean I’ll get used to it,” Renjun shrugs, his mouth stuffed with salad. “The neighborhood seems nice, too. And my parents bumped into their college friends there. They live just a few blocks away, and they have a son of our age.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do they now?” Mark tries curiously, diverting his gaze from the plate as they’re having lunch in a school cafeteria and a piece of tomato falls off his fork on the tray.</p><p> </p><p>Renjun nods in agreement. “Uh-huh. He seems cool. So fucking tall though, a walking mountain,” he adds and Mark lets out a laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’s a start.”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess it is.”</p><p> </p><p>When three days later Mark tries a peek out of his window, his throat goes dry and his stomach swirls in distress. He knew it’s the moving day, but actually seeing a rented truck parked next to his friend’s porch feels surreal and makes his little bubble of comfort burst with a popping sound.</p><p> </p><p>He rushes out of the house, his jacket unzipped and cold air hitting his chest, and seconds later he sees Mr. Huang appear in the doorframe with a rather large box in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello kid,” he smiles and they even manage to make a small talk about the exams, Mark trying his best to stay as composed as possible. He does a great job at that even if he can’t help nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another, before Renjun walks out of the house shortly after.</p><p> </p><p>He also has a box which looks reasonably smaller than the one his dad was carrying, and his eyes look red and puffy.</p><p> </p><p>The sight breaks something inside of Mark a little, and he can’t even choke out a weak greeting because it is suddenly blocked by the lump in his throat. It’s the first time he’s seeing Renjun cry, and he’s not sure how to react at first, his hands flying up and then dropping back to his sides awkwardly.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me help you with that,” Mark finally says, taking the box from him at last, and after he places it in the truck, Renjun crashes him in a sudden hug.</p><p> </p><p>The embrace is so tight as if it’s called to squeeze the air out of Mark, but he knows it’s coming from Renjun’s abundance of emotions and the lack of skills to put them into words, so he reciprocates just as eagerly.</p><p> </p><p>An hour later Mark finds himself in the middle of a driveway as he’s left to watch the truck drive away, followed by another car with Renjun in the backseat. He suddenly feels his limbs go numb and the further the car floats away, the duller his world becomes. The colors are slowly being sucked out, until the street looks gray and depressing, until the street just doesn’t look <em>right </em>anymore.         </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. johnny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yooo hey im back lol<br/>this chapter is significantly longer than the previous one and i’m afraid the word count will only keep growing, so i’ll be honest with you i have no idea when the next chapter is coming lol <br/>also please bear with me, its like 3am so im too tired to revise this and i apologize if there’s any errors or anything, i’ll make sure to take care of that later :&gt; <br/>lastly, i hope you enjoy reading this, and if so pls let me know what you think in the comments (or don’t, i can’t really tell you what to do lol). anyways enjoy xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Friday night, Johnny’s head peeks into Mark’s room.</p><p> </p><p>His shoulders are broad, posture tilted to the side as he rests his head against the doorframe, and Mark can’t help but feel unease. Johnny’s gaze is intent, lips pursed, and he probably has words sitting on the tip of his tongue that he doesn’t dare to throw at Mark just yet.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m making dinner. Will you join?” He asks, arms lazily crossed over his chest, a spatula sticking out from the grip of one hand, and Mark tries his best not to grimace at the excuse for an attempted conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” he replies, eyes still running through the lines of some feature that he’s reading on his laptop, and when he hears a light thump against the floor, he turns his head reluctantly only to see Johnny’s foot being one step further into his room. Mark quirks his brow up expectantly, and only then Johnny opens his mouth again.</p><p> </p><p>“May I?” he asks as if he hasn’t started walking already, and Mark finally puts down his laptop, lid still slightly opened so that it didn’t go into sleep mode, and gestures at the edge of his bed in a silent invitation to take a seat. His brother complies with a short nod, his hair bouncing lightly as he’s making his way into the room, and Mark can already tell he is not here to check on his well-being, as his forehead is slightly creased in wrinkles – the sign he is deep in thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you reading something? School business on Friday night?” he tries to go for an unbothered chuckle, and Mark looks up at him in a silent plea to cut to the chase. Johnny’s mention of school doesn’t go unnoticed, though, the word practically cutting through Mark’s brittle peace of mind like a hot knife cuts through butter, and he feels alarmed, the nerve endings in his body flaring up with tension.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there anything you want to say?” Mark asks, and Johnny lets out a humorless laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s funny, because that’s exactly what I wanted to ask you.”</p><p> </p><p>Mark bites at his lower lip, a terrible habit he picked up years ago and can’t help doing until now, as he’s carefully calculating his next words. That’s a tricky challenge at best, as Johnny would pick on a minor lie in the blink of an eye, years spent with Mark side by side weren’t spent for nothing, after all. So, rather than spill lies while having the truth spelled out all over his face in bold letters and a hundred of exclamation marks at the end, Mark settles for silence, feigning obliviousness. Johnny finally sighs, his mission of fishing out any answers failed.</p><p> </p><p>“The principle called,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Mark hums in understanding. He honestly hoped the call would come much later, five days of missed classes not something worth stressing over and contacting the family, but he also knows his situation, <em>his reputation</em> as sour as the word makes him feel, so in the end, it’s only fair, he guesses.</p><p> </p><p>“What did she say?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny shrugs and his shoulders are slouched, almost heavy.</p><p> </p><p>“She asked if you were alright,” the answer is short and vague, their conversation was probably more tense than Johnny is making it out to be.</p><p> </p><p>“And what did you tell her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, let’s just say it took me a while to understand why she was even calling in the first place,” he trails off. “But don’t worry, I said you are lying in bed with a cold, and that the herbal tea is doing its job amazingly and you’ll be in class on Monday,” he says, and Mark mumbles a short <em>thanks</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny scoffs, confused. “Don’t thank me, it’s your sheer luck mom was at work, when Mrs. Jung called, and that we are on good terms with her and she didn’t insist she talk to a parent. But you really should take a better care of mom since, you know, <em>I am not here</em>,” he says and Mark’s head shoots up, the usual arches of his brows drawn together in a frown.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is serious, Mark. You know she doesn’t have it easy, I honestly can’t even begin to understand why in the world you would like to make things even more complicated for her,” he says, the voice raised a notch, and the waves of frustration are practically radiating off him. “What she went through last spring,” <em>what you put her through last spring</em>, “she’s not ready to take care of it again,” <em>to take care of you again</em>. “And I know it’s hard for you, too. So, I am not here to scold you. But you’re shutting me out and building walls around to keep me out of your life. That’s not how we used to-”</p><p> </p><p>The rant is interrupted by the sound of the front door clicking closed, the muffled rustling of grocery bags barely audible from downstairs. They both turn their heads to the source of the sound coming from the living room, and then their mother’s soft voice announces that she’s home. </p><p> </p><p>“Promise me you’ll go to school on Monday,” Johnny points at Mark with a spatula, lowering his voice to a whisper as if their mom was somewhere within the earshot.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Mark deflates.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay<em>, I promise</em>.”  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>On Monday the sun decides to drown earth in its warmth, and it shows no mercy, despite it being the middle of September.</p><p> </p><p>The rays infiltrate Mark’s room, the armor of his thick navy blue blinds utterly useless against the light, and they sift through his tightly squeezed eyes. Mark lets out an exasperated groan and slips his head under the pillow. He’d rather it rained, the contrast between the weather and his shitty shitty mood is almost ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p>He planned to stick to his promise, thoughts about disappointing his mom drilling into his mind, and the night before he barely gets any sleep, his body squirming in the bed uncomfortably, as he’s failing to find a decent position where his limbs wouldn’t be pressed flat into the mattress.</p><p> </p><p>The night leaves its imprint on his face, dark circles now blooming under his eyes, and his hair sticks out in different directions, when he scratches himself off the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you up yet?” Johnny yells probably from behind the staircase (as the voice comes out muffled when it reaches Mark’s room), and Mark finds himself standing barefoot on the carpet, knees more resembling jelly than bone.</p><p> </p><p>“Coming,” he yells back, the sound more whiny than intended, and his eyes jump to the wall, the clock hanging there almost mockingly. “Fuck,” he cusses under his breath, and after finding a relatively fresh T-shirt and a hoodie, makes a beeline for the kitchen, the stairs squeaking uglily with every thud of his feet against the wooden surface.</p><p> </p><p>“I gotta be at work by nine thirty, and the traffic on Mondays is crazy. It’ll take at least an hour and a half to get to the city, so we better hurry up, yeah?” Johnny rushes around the rooms, his hands flying up in utter chaos, trying to collect his belongings around the house. He’s supposed to leave the town today, his boss generously allowing him to take additional couple of days off making it a whole week of vacation – a quite miserable one, Mark notes – and when Mark looks at the kitchen table, there’s already a bowl of flakes sitting there, a cloud forming over the mug of tea next to it. “I didn’t really have enough time to make a breakfast, but it’s still better than nothing, right?” Johnny chuckles, his voice slightly breathless from moving around so much. “I put one and a half spoon of sugar in your tea, just how you like it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Mark mumbles, and Johnny smiles again. Mark debates on whether he should let Johnny know he stopped adding sugar to his tea more than two years ago, but in the end decides against it, silently drinking the sweetened beverage, the unpleasant taste almost jabbing at his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>The ride to the school is awkward. Johnny’s nostrils flare up and break the complete silence in the car, and he drums his fingers against the steer wheel impatiently, when the traffic lights turn red. “Why the hell do they even need the traffic lights here? The street is dead,” he complains, and Mark lowers his head to hide a half-smile that is spreading across his mouth. Johnny is probably going to be late.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll hit you up, yeah?” the older brother says through the open window as he lingers at the school parking lot before driving away, and Mark sends him a silent thumbs-up from the sidewalk, his lips pressed into a thin line. He then makes his way to the school building, the hood thrown over the nest of his hair, the sun almost burning.</p><p> </p><p>The school is still the same.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure why he’d expect it to be different in the first place, given his absence has hardly exceeded 6 months, but he’s still inspects the building in search for at least some minor changes to give him a false sense of a fresh start. The door to the main hall was replaced, he can see that, the image of the last one being shattered into pieces during the prom night quickly pops up in his mind (he wasn’t present there of course, but Renjun is a faithful follower of some bullshit Instagram account that posts a daily supply of local gossips and he sent Mark a video. Mark was stunned both by the video and the fact Renjun had never unfollowed the account even after he’d left).</p><p> </p><p>“No phones at school,” a passing teacher glares at him, as he takes a quick picture of the hallway to send to Renjun in a sorrowful announcement that’s he’s finally back, and he complies, stuffing the phone in the hidden pocket of his backpack, before slamming the locker door shut with a little too much force than necessary, and heading for the Biology classroom.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to make an appearance, hell, that is the last thing he would possibly want, so he tucks his head, the round glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as he does so, and when he tries a glance at the classroom, his face now partially visible, the chatter dies down and his new classmates now stare at him like he’s an alien. Most of the stares are bewildered, but then there’s also Jaemin, whose hair is no longer pink but blue now, and his eyes are round with shock, a glint of worriedness flickering through them.</p><p> </p><p>Mark has to take a deep breath through his nose, nibbling on his chapped lips almost aggressively, and when he makes his way to the desk in the back, which happens to be the only empty desk, he can feel the stares on his back, on his sides and everywhere, the classmates staring, staring, staring.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you have shit to do?” he barks out, a sudden wave of confidence and annoyance surging through him, accelerating his heart beat rate at once, and everyone diverts their gazes, except for Jaemin, his head still stubbornly turned to Mark from where he’s seated.</p><p> </p><p>He also turns around eventually, after the bell rings and the staccato of teacher’s steps fills the classroom, her heels clicking against the floor loudly. He eases himself into the lesson only fifteen minutes later, when the teacher’s hand flies up to make some schematic drawings of cellular structure. Mark has considerately brought his notes from last year with all the schemes and explanations written neatly, Renjun’s brief remarks still sprinkled here and there, so he allows himself to tune out and doodle, chin propped against the palm lazily, as everyone is following the smooth movements of the teacher’s hand against the board.</p><p> </p><p>In the middle of the lesson, a paper ball lands on Mark’s desk. It first hits him in his head, actually, but then recoils, finally taking its place between Mark’s mindless circles in the notebook in front of him. He frowns, but unfolds the piece of paper nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>you good?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The letters are uneven, some of them jumping out of the row completely, like they were written by a child. His first instinct is to look at Jaemin, but when he does, he’s only met with the latter’s crown of the head, his blue hair reflecting the light from the window like a mirror. Mark’s frown deepens, and he examines the room further, before coming across the boy’s gaze from the row to his left. </p><p> </p><p>The two round buttons of his eyes are trained on Mark, his expression unreadable and a pen trapped between his teeth, as he’s bouncing his legs under the desk mechanically.</p><p> </p><p>Mark doesn’t think he’s seen him before, his hair a mess of colors, as if he’s just come out from a color powder fight, green plaiting with blue, with purple, with pink. Mark arches his brow in a silent question, but the boy just grins in response, a tiny lace of wrinkles framing his eyes as he does so.</p><p> </p><p>And then he just shrugs and keeps chewing on the cone of his pen, his smile never faltering a bit.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Living in a small town didn’t leave much room for socializing.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t leave much room for anything really.</p><p> </p><p>But then Mark had Renjun, and he had Johnny, and he had his mom so that was more than enough to grow up happy.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny was 16 when Mark broke his leg. He smashed the bike against the tree as he and Renjun were racing for a bet. Jisung, their neighbor, was three years younger, mischievous and had a funny giggle. He also had a huge collection of Pokemon cards, which at that time defined the level of coolness the person presented, and a spare card of the sword booster that he promised to a winner who would get to the corner of the street faster. So it was a totally valid argument with a worthy prize. Mark didn’t think twice before climbing his bike.</p><p> </p><p>He also was sure he would win, as Renjun was shorter than he was, and he was in a choir while Mark had soccer practice on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and he knew they would wind up sharing the card anyway, but a bet was a bet, and Mark was 11 and stupid.</p><p> </p><p>What he totally did not take into account, was the state of his old bike that previously was in Johnny’s possession before he suddenly grew two times taller and became too large, his knees bending uncomfortably as he pedaled. He also didn’t consider the state of the chain on the said bike. When Mark sped up, the chain snapped and he was at his fate’s mercy rolling down the hill at insane speed before he suddenly crushed into the bush at first, his bike ricocheting further into the tree.</p><p> </p><p>Mark had a huge scratch on his forehead that healed in about two weeks, a cast on his leg that stayed for longer, approximately two months, and an old orange bike with a bent frame that was impossible to repair. Out of three direct outcomes of the story, the smashed bike was the reason he sulked the most.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbled to Johnny, when they were sitting at the local hospital, waiting for their mom to come pick them up and do the paperwork.</p><p> </p><p>“For what?” Johnny asked, perplexed.</p><p> </p><p>“For crashing your bike.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my-“ Johnny sighed and wound his arm around Mark’s shoulders in a loose hug. “Screw that bike, it was ugly anyways,” he chuckled and Mark’s lips quirked upwards, too. He loved Johnny.</p><p> </p><p>The summer was weird, but he got accustomed, quickly discovering his ways of maneuvering around the house without the crutches, choosing to jump on one leg for short distances and yelling from his room at whoever was in the house to help him downstairs, if that was necessary. In the evenings Johnny would lead him outside, where Renjun would already wait for him with a distressed face.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re like my grandpa!” he would tease. “He barely walks, too,” he’d add and Mark would slap him on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up!”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny stayed at home less than usual. Mark wanted to hold a grudge against him for that, he was partially disabled after all, but he had Renjun tossing things around his room, and playing computer games, and bringing the snacks from the cupboard, so he had no reasons to complain.</p><p> </p><p>The cast was taken off in the beginning of August, on the second day of it, to be precise, the day that by sheer coincidence happened to be Mark’s 12<sup>th</sup> birthday. He never waited for his birthday that eagerly before, the day circled in red in his sticker-covered calendar, and he already had a million things planned despite the doctor strongly recommending him to restrict the physical activity for the next couple of weeks.</p><p> </p><p>“That is literally the best present ever!” he cheered in excitement on the way back home from the hospital, his leg stretched out but still numb from being immobile for so long, and his mom just chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah! And this is my favorite song! Will you turn the volume up, <em>please</em>?” he drawled with puppy eyes from the backseat and mom complied, not before smiling at him through the driver’s mirror, of course.</p><p> </p><p>When they pulled up to the house, Johnny was sitting on the porch with an ear-to-ear grin and a new bike by his side. It was dark blue, new and geared, the one you would only see in commercials with a hefty price tag, far too fancy unless you have a fat wallet and a more than five-digit number in your bank account.  </p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday,” his brother smiled, and Mark barely remembered how to breathe, his awe taking away this basic ability.</p><p> </p><p>Years later, he got to know that Johnny took a part-time job to be able to afford a new bike.</p><p> </p><p>He fucking loved Johnny. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Would you mind some company?”</p><p> </p><p>The sound of a high-pitched voice brings Mark out of his stupor, and when he raises his head, he meets a pair of eyes on a round-shaped face. It’s the boy from his Biology class.</p><p> </p><p>Mark has been sitting at the table, long lost in his misery and never-ending flow of thoughts, as his hand kept stabbing the piece of chicken with a fork for a couple of minutes. He stares back for a few moments, before his brain kindly reminds him to answer the question.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure. I mean, no, not at all,” he nods then shakes his head, then mentally slaps himself for the unnecessary awkwardness and finally outstretches his hand at the vacant stool in front of him and mumbles, “I mean you can take a seat.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy grins, “Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>He flops onto the chair clumsily, the leg of the chair screeching against the tiled floor, and Mark dares a quick glance at him. He’s still a mess of colors, the purple of his floral-patterned shirt almost stealing the attention away from the rainbow hair, but now that the boy is in the close proximity for Mark to just lean in and reach him, he can see details his eye has missed before. A faint trace of sprinkled freckles on the tan skin is barely catchable, but still present and prominent enough if you look closer. He looks like summer, like a hot sunny day followed by a tender pink-shaded sunset above the endless field of cornflowers. He’s soft and sharp at the same time, and when the boy smiles to himself, his gaze cast down, Mark feels his shoulders relax, light heat travelling up his neck to the tips of his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t recall seeing you last week. Skipping classes, huh?” the boy says, his fingers unwrapping a sandwich. It’s the one with tuna, Mark registers quickly, the odor repelling to his taste buds, and he scrunches his nose at the smell.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, I had a cold,” Mark lies.</p><p> </p><p>“Too bad, I was just about to offer to ditch the lessons together,” he grins and takes a bite of the sandwich. “Although, I’ll be honest, I like it here. Your teachers are cool, that’s unusual,” he adds as he’s chewing on a large piece, his face showing no overt disgust at the taste. He is probably the first person to ever finish that food, Mark thinks. </p><p> </p><p>“Why’d you want to ditch then?”    </p><p> </p><p>“To see my dad pop a vessel when he sees my grades, of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Mark is a fool for not guessing that correctly right away. “But in all seriousness though, his face gets so red when he’s about to lose it, he looks like a fucking tomato. That’s so entertaining,” he beams.</p><p> </p><p>“How can that be entertaining?” Mark frowns, genuinely confused. He despises the mere thought of letting down someone else’s expectations, let alone turn it into fun. That is the main reason he’s at school after all, because that’s where he’s supposed to be, that’s where he’s expected to be, that’s what his family clearly expressed their wishes for.  </p><p> </p><p>“They don’t expect much from me,” the boy answers as if he could read Mark’s thoughts. “Every conversation we have usually ends in my mom reciting my biography, pointing out every single thing that according to her, I did wrong starting like from the age of 5. Then she starts to accuse me of her migraines, and then dad butts in with his remarks that I want them dead or something. Weirdos,” he concludes, an involuntary laughter escaping his mouth, and Mark just stares at him, struck with awe.</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that a bit-“ he clears his throat, “extreme?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah.” The boy shakes his head. “Everyone is getting what they asked for. Instant karma and shit. Except that it’s not really instant,” he adds after giving his words another thought, his fingertips drumming against his cheek in muse. “Sometimes your mistakes come bite you in the ass years after,” he grins again and takes an abnormally large bite of the sandwich. “This is so good, I can’t-“ he groans.</p><p> </p><p>Marks blinks, amazed. “You like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hell yeah, I do. My previous school didn’t ever serve sandwiches. Just some sticky liquid they called soup. This is basically my heaven.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where’d you move from?” Mark tries, curiosity taking over, and the boy clicks his tongue, eyes trained on the ceiling, as he’s looking for a suitable answer.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a loaded question,” he concludes, obviously not willing to go into too much detail. “What about you? Why are you repeating the year?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>Mark’s head shoots up at that and he can feel his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. He doesn’t say anything, the wheels in his brain spinning twice as quickly to generate any answer at all, but the terrified look on his face is more than enough to translate his silent question.</p><p> </p><p>“People talk,” the boy shrugs, conveniently offering Mark clarification. “Don’t worry, I don’t usually listen anyways. And I don’t care if you have some dramatic story, so it’s chill,” he says and gets a short nod from Mark. “Do you, though? Have a dramatic story to share?” the boy’s lips form a suggestive smile, but it is obvious he doesn’t mean the question and that retrieves a subtle smile from Mark as well.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a loaded question,” he retaliates, and the boy lets out a sonorous laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I thought.”</p><p> </p><p>They barely say anything else until a few minutes before the bell is supposed to ring and indicate the beginning of another period. The chair’s leg repeats the screeching sound again, as the boy stands up, and he offers Mark a very weird goodbye line, saying he has other people to go bother with paper balls now. Mark looks at him in acknowledgement, before he suddenly realizes he doesn’t even know the name of the guy.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, what is your name?” he blurts out, his eyes growing bigger as he marvels at his own obliviousness and forgetfulness. The faint blush dusts the apples of the boy’s cheeks and he lets out a sheepish smile. The emotion is feels a bit off. It’s as if timidity isn’t supposed to be on his face at all, only confidence, boldness, <em>nerve</em>. It does suit him, though, Mark notes, it really fucking suits him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Donghyuck, but my friends call me Hyuck,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Mark gives it another thought and the corners of his lips twitch upward. “Hyuck, then?” he tries, and the usual playfulness is back on the boy’s, on <em>Donghyuck’s</em> face.</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, no, you have to earn it, Mark Lee. You have to earn it,” he winks, and just like that he’s gone, a tray swept clean from the table, and the smell of the tuna sandwich no longer irritating Mark’s nostrils.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mark was first introduced to Jaehyun, when he was 14.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny was in his last year of high school, the pressure of vague and undecided future layering on him, threatening to burst at any given moment.</p><p> </p><p>He quit his summer job back in August, right before the school had started, and their mom had to cover extra shifts at the store, taking the future college expenses into consideration. Mark felt powerless but very driven to help, deciding to take care of most chores in the household. His mother found that endearing.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny prioritized late night study sessions over the healthy sleeping schedule, not willing to jeopardize his well-deserved reputation of a diligent student, but somehow despite that, managed to balance school with his personal life as well, and to everyone’s surprise, he got himself a girlfriend that he deemed important enough to introduce to his family. It wasn’t at a family dinner with many bowls of salads on the table and excruciating awkwardness in the air – he just randomly popped up at the front door hand in hand with a girl, and then hurriedly rapped a quick introduction and left for his room. Mark was surprised, so was their mom, but the girl was nice.</p><p> </p><p>Mark started seeing them in the hallways more and more, given he was in his first year of high school, too.</p><p> </p><p>Migyung had long wavy hair, fluffy eyelashes, tiny dimples when she smiled, and as it turned out later, also a very good-looking younger brother who had the same set of dimples. That was probably genes, Mark thought.</p><p> </p><p>She stayed at their house more and more, and just a couple of weeks later, it was a usual thing for Mark to see the couple on the couch in the living room as he came back from Renjun’s. They had movie nights on Saturdays, and Mark usually ended up joining, you can’t say no to free cheese-flavored popcorn, after all.</p><p> </p><p>In November, Migyung’s family decided to do a weekend trip to their cabin in the woods. Johnny was going too, as her family quickly accepted him with open arms, and for some unclear reason, Mark was tagging along, too.</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Migyung blurted out one day, when she came over, “that would be really nice if you joined,” she said. Mark blinked at her dumbly, his fingers pulling at the hem of the shirt uncertainly, but Johnny gave him an encouraging nod and Migyung smiled at him sweetly, and so he agreed.</p><p> </p><p>He still felt weird, though.</p><p> </p><p>The cabin was nice and spacious. Mark wasn’t sure why Migyung’s family even needed it in the first place, given that they lived in the suburbs near the forest anyway, but he didn’t question – they could afford <em>that</em> and a set of furniture made of walnut for the dining room. They didn’t have a spare guest room, though, so Mark was offered to share the room with Jaehyun – a sixteen-year-old teenager whom the universe seemed to be very fond of, as he looked way too mature and handsome, teen acne nowhere in sight, and was already towering over Mark, despite being just two years older.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I won’t be third-wheeling alone,” he clicked his tongue when they were introduced, and then stretched out his hand to Mark. “I’m Jaehyun, Migyung’s brother,” he added, and Mark thought that it was unnecessary – they looked almost identical after all.</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, the cabin trip was going exceptionally well.</p><p> </p><p>For a split second, Mark thought he was a fool for expecting awkwardness or hostility, and Migyung and Jaehyun’s parents were the definition of “cool parents”, taking them for short hikes in the daylight and setting a bonfire within walking distance of the house in the evening. They even had a guitar, and Mark thought the whole thing was very similar to a summer camp, except there was no camp and it was the middle of November.</p><p> </p><p>At some point, as they were sitting by the bonfire, he got very cold, despite the warmth coming off the fire. He waited and waited, and waited some more, but when his fingers went numb and he could barely move anymore, he finally decided to voice his discomfort. As soon as the words left his mouth, Jaehyun’s head shot up.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, we gotta go get you some sweater or something,” he said, and Mark peeked at him, his lips forming a small ‘o’. Jaehyun raised his brows at the reaction and then added, “You don’t wanna get lost, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to, indeed, and a minute later they already were walking back to the house, the dry branches of the trees crackling under their boots. When the light from the porch was already visible, but still obstructed by a couple of trees, Jaehyun stopped, and then perched on a stump, his long fingers retrieving something from the pocket of his jacket.</p><p> </p><p>Mark brows knitted together in a frown, but when he took a closer look and was able to make out the features of the thing, his brows shoot up, forming wrinkles on his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that a cigarette?” he whisper-yelled, his eyes round with surprise, as he pointed at the thing in Jaehyun’s hands. The latter just laughed, the misty cloud appearing next to his mouth in the dead of November night. Mark still was cold and he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets.</p><p> </p><p>“You could say that,” Jaehyun replied casually, bringing the cigarette to his lips. He puffed out the smoke, but its smell was weird and sharp and not something Mark had ever encountered, and suddenly his senses were acute to the smell.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that- <em>weed</em>?” he said, even quieter now as if someone would eavesdrop on them, and Jaehyun just laughed again.</p><p> </p><p>“You want some?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Mark leaves the school after the last class, his phone has eight new message notifications. Seven of them are from Renjun – <em>so how was it</em>, written in capital letters, five memes, and a cute video of a baby penguin walking on an ice floe. There’s also a short message from Johnny that reads <em>How’s school? Text me</em> with a green heart emoji at the end. He scoops his earphones that are hanging off his hand back into one ball of tangled wires, and just when he’s about to type his reply to Johnny, he hears a loud whistle on the right.</p><p> </p><p>There’s Donghyuck, his limbs are languid, slender body almost dripping off the handrails he’s leaning onto.</p><p> </p><p>“You got a ride, Mark Lee?” he exclaims with a smile, a bagel-shaped strand blown by the wind sticking out on top of his head like a horn. He pushes himself up and takes large albeit unrushed steps in his direction, until he stands face to face with Mark, his eyes looking him up and down, hair glowing in the sun like a halo.</p><p> </p><p>Mark shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m catching a bus,” he says awkwardly after clearing his throat, and Donghyuck murmurs a brief <em>cool, I can be your ride then</em> before tugging at the sleeve of his sweatshirt and guiding him towards the parking lot. Mark follows obediently.</p><p> </p><p>“You drive?” he asks unsurely, uselessly stumbling behind, and Donghyuck turns around, his eyes glinting with mischief.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t offer you a drive, silly. I offered you a <em>ride</em>,” he chuckles, and right before the parking lot he turns to the side where an old rusty rack is located, blue paint long faded, and a pile of bicycles almost layering on one another. “Ta-dah!” he announces proudly, hands wide open as if he’s presenting his greatest accomplishment, and then in the blink of an eye, his dexterous fingers are already working the lock open.   </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Mark gapes, perplexed. “You mean a <em>ride</em> ride?”</p><p> </p><p>“At least it doesn’t stink like old farts,” he shrugs. “Unlike the bus.”</p><p> </p><p>Mark does want to protest, but Donghyuck’s point just makes sense. The phone in his pocket vibrates with a new message.</p><p> </p><p><em>From: Johnny</em><br/>I can see you’ve read the message, Mark. Please reply. Did you go to school?</p><p> </p><p>Mark sends him the picture of the hallway he’s taken for Renjun in the morning as a proof he didn’t flake out again, mild annoyance with his brother already resonating in the back of his head, but he shushes it successfully and then turns his attention back to Donghyuck, who’s already thrown his leg over the frame of the bike, one heel resting against the pedal.</p><p> </p><p>“Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” he rings the bicycle bell with a grin and Mark can’t help the good-hearted laughter bubbling up in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“This is just ridiculous,” he giggles but climbs the backseat nevertheless.</p><p> </p><p>“Ridiculous is my middle name.”</p><p> </p><p>“So I’ve figured.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mark didn’t think Donghyuck really meant it when he said they would go shopping.</p><p> </p><p>He also read the situation wrong, being the naïve person he is, as he wasn’t careful enough to assume Donghyuck would actually be the one to <em>take</em> them anywhere. As soon as they pass the crest and another hill appears on the horizon, he groans, pedals for ten more seconds, then groans again and accuses Mark of being too tall, too heavy and generally unfit for being transported like that.</p><p> </p><p><em>It was literally your idea</em>, Mark wants to say but then just scoffs instead, a snarky remark leaving his mouth as soon as he opens it. “Maybe it’s you who’s unfit?” He teases.</p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck just turns his head, his eyes narrowed, and then stops the bike rapidly, a short screeching sound of the tire against the sidewalk retrieving a surprised gasp from Mark.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you try, then?”</p><p> </p><p>And so he does. Because he’s stubborn like that, because he’s dumb like that, and because a challenge is a challenge.</p><p> </p><p>They pass the rows of houses, neat lawns almost shining in the rays of sun, green splashes mixing together in one continuous blur around them, and Mark can feel small beads of sweat forming on his forehead, making the damp bangs stick to his skin uncomfortably. Donghyuck’s hand clutches at the back of his hoodie, firm grip probably leaving the fabrics creased, and when they pass by a tiny convenience store with dusty windows, Donghyuck’s hand flies up to hit Mark’s shoulder once, twice.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, hey, stop, I wanna buy some ice cream,” he cries out and Mark groans, but stops nonetheless. “You like ice cream, right?”</p><p> </p><p>The dark-haired boy squints. “What kind of question is that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool. Wait for me here, I’ll be back in a moment,” he nods and leaps to the door of the store.</p><p> </p><p>Mark does as he’s told, his fingers drawing invisible circles on the handlebar absentmindedly, and it’s not until five minutes later that Donghyuck finally appears in his sight again. The door is thrown wide open, almost banging against the building in the process, and the boy bursts out of the store at the speed of light, his arm pressing the colorful packaging of what Mark supposes is ice cream against his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Go, go, go,” he yells, as he hops on the backseat awkwardly, movements so clumsy they almost lose the balance and fall over. “Go!” Donghyuck yells again, drumming his palm against the flat of Mark’s back, and before Mark has time to process what the hell is even happening, a middle aged man pops up at the door as well, his round belly sticking out uncomfortably as he struggles to run after them, curses slipping off his tongue so naturally, like it’s his first language. Mark pedals as fast as he can, short breaths making his throat impossibly dry, and when they drive away and the man’s cries fade into the background, he turns around, the wind tangling his messy hair.</p><p> </p><p>“You said you would fucking <em>buy </em>it!” he hisses, scandalized, and Donghyuck laughs as if that is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, his arm still clutching at the ice cream tightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Too bad I didn’t bring my wallet.”</p><p> </p><p>When they sit on the grass at the park nearby Mark’s house, Mark’s cheeks are flushed and his face and neck burn hot. The cloud of trees above them casts a hint of shadows, but sunrays still break through the barrier of bushy leaves here and there, creating a soft glow. Mark’s t-shirt sticks to his body all damp, his hoodie long forgotten and thrown aside, and he can already feel annoying pain tugging at his muscles.</p><p> </p><p>“Here you go,” Donghyuck tosses one ice cream to Mark, as he’s sitting cross-legged, and Mark almost misses it, his brows knitting together in a scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“You stole that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>borrowed</em>,” Donghyuck counters as he opens the packaging, ice cream all melted from the heat, dripping down the cone and onto his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Mark scoffs. “So you’re intending to <em>return</em> that?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Duh.</em> When I’m rich and can afford that,” he rolls his eyes as if Mark just won a prize for the silliest question in the world, and then points at him accusatively, his brows jumping upwards. “I risked my ass for you too, show some respect,” he whines.</p><p> </p><p>Mark huffs a silent laugh, the corner of his lips twitching up in amusement, but he still unwraps the ice cream, a sticky sugary foam coating his fingertips momentarily. “You know,” he says, bringing the palm to the grass in miserable attempt to wipe it clean, “I don’t know where you moved from, but you clearly never lived in a small town before.”</p><p> </p><p>That makes Donghyuck’s eyes narrow.</p><p> </p><p>“What makes you think so?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you see, everyone knows everyone here. You’ll be lucky if that dude doesn’t show up at your porch three days later,” he points out, biting a mouthful of ice cream. The substance is all fused and resembles milkshake poured into a cone. Mark absolutely <em>hates</em> milkshakes.</p><p> </p><p>“So, you’re basically saying people is small town are creeps. That’s promising,” Donghyuck hums, and Mark rubs his scrunched nose. It’s probably the first time he doesn’t mind his words being twisted, no overt irritation fogging his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I said.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I read between lines,” Donghyuck grins. “But your guess is correct, I’ll give you that. It’s my first time in a small town,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“How do you like it so far?” Mark asks and watches a tiny pout take over Donghyuck’s lips as he takes his time to think about the answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Not having to spend hours on commuting is nice,” he shrugs. “Other than that, it’s the same. In the end, it doesn’t really matter where you live as long as you have people you love around you,” he chuckles and throws his head back to catch the sunrays on his face, the strong light making him squint. His chuckle is contagious, it is so contagious that it makes warmth and joy and carelessness pool in Mark’s stomach, setting the locked butterflies loose, and he can’t help the growing smile on his lips, too.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what my mom would say,” he murmurs, twinkling, making Donghyuck tilt his head to the side, his eyes still barely open.</p><p> </p><p>“Then she’s a wise person, your mom,” he says.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After they part their ways, Mark searches the pockets of his jeans for any money and offers a handful of coins and an apologetic smile to the man at to the convenience store.</p><p> </p><p>The man levels him with a glare, but still throws the money into the cash register. He doesn’t say a word to Mark, his eyes boring holes into his back as he leaves, and when Mark finds himself standing outside, he smiles to himself, the tiny bell on the squeaky door ringing in the background.</p><p> </p><p>This may be what happiness sounds like.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next chapter: jaemin :&gt;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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